


Dysphoric

by Alterius



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Trans Male Character, Trans Prompto Argentum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 02:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alterius/pseuds/Alterius
Summary: Noctis has never been one to ask for directions and Prompto has never been one to take the lead. So what do you do when that winds up getting you lost? You make a sorry excuse for a camp and cuddle up to your best bud—and that's what Prompto will do, once he deals with one other problem.





	Dysphoric

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing I wrote for no particular reason. First fic in this fandom, beta'd by my amazing fiance, [Lavi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lascivus). I'm enjoying writing for this series so far, so if you have any requests you can hit me up in the comments or on my [Tumblr](http://www.alteriius.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  **Fair warning.** This fic does talk some about gender dysphoria and is only rated T for some discussion between Prompto and Noctis (that's not sexual and is barely touched upon). I'm probably being more cautious than I should be.

“Admit it, we're lost!”

“We are _not_ _ **lost**_.”

Prompto Argentum is the first to admit that Noctis isn't much of a liar. Hell, his honesty is probably a hazard to Lucis, as far as most its politicians are concerned, but that mattered little. He could say with confidence that most people preferred an honest king to a liar, even if he came baring disheartening information.

But as much of a liar Noct _wasn’t_ , that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell one. Being a blunt guy didn’t mean he wouldn’t pretend that he knew where they were going until it was clear that he’d lost their way well over an hour ago.

“ _Dude_ , we're totally lost. _There's_ the coeurl we killed like thirty minutes ago!”

“Okay, for on thing, that was _maybe_ twenty minutes, but _fine_ , yes,” Noctis says with an eye roll so aggressive that Prompto wouldn’t be surprised if they rolled right out of his head. He leans heavy on his “good” leg, eyes scouring the trees for their destination to no avail before making their way back to Prompto. “We’re a _little_ lost.”

“Finally!” Prompto says, raising his hands toward the sky, as if reciting a silent prayer to the Astrals, thanking them for this blessing. Noct’s half-hearted glare stops him from actually singing his praises to the Six.

“You're _more_ than welcome to show me where I should be going if you know so much better,” Noctis says with a wave of his hand, gesturing at the foreign landscape stretched out before him.

Oh, _hell_ no.

“Right, uh, buddy. _Pal_. Kinda defeats the point of a camera man if he's taking the lead.”

There’s another roll of his eyes, but Prompto doesn’t miss the way Noct’s lips twitch upwards into a smile that gives away his amusement.

“Yeah, you just wanna take pics of me falling on my ass,” Noctis says and Prompto touches a hand to his heart, _offended_ by the mere concept that he would enjoy the opportunity to ruin his friend’s reputation. But he doesn’t have the chance to continue messing around, if only because they need to be _adults_ for once, instead of letting Iggy do all the legwork for them.

“We're gonna have to camp soon. It's getting late,” Noctis says and any glee Prompto had found in their antics disappears. He _groans_ at the idea of sleeping on the _ground_ **again**. This would make the fourth night in a row—and this time, he couldn’t even blame Ignis being cheap.

“Ya know, I think we need to convince Ignis that sleeping on a giant magical rock that sends a smoky wisp thing up into the air to alert everyone to where it's at is probably not very beneficial to our health.”

“Tried it.”

A laugh spills from Prompto’s lips as a smile spreads across Noct’s face. The two of them walk onwards in the dimming light, searching for anything that might resemble safety once night fell. It’s the aforementioned sliver of smoky light that leads them to their destination and it’s not until he takes a running leap to the top of the rock that he realizes how _shit out of luck_ they are.

“Aw, man,” Prompto says aloud, letting loose a whine as he swivels on his heels to look at his friend. “We’re gonna freeze our balls off out here, Noct.”

That was to be expected, but it somehow slipped his mind that as _infinite_ as Noctis’s _internal storage_ apparently was, their camping equipment had a home in the trunk of the Regalia, rather than the Armiger. Tents, sleeping bags… Come morning, they were both going to have nasty colds and aching backs to match.

“I have, uh…” Noctis says, pausing to hum softly before something flickers into existence in his hands, pulled from the Armiger. “This?”

 _This_ is a just a single, solitary blanket, not particularly thick and superior to what Prompto could offer—which was nothing—but it does little to make him feel better about the night they’d be spending away from their other comrades.

“That’s… not gonna get us very far.”

“Yeah, but it’s all we’ve got,” Noct says, shrugging off Prompto’s observation before he tosses the blanket to him. It covers Prompto’s face and by the time he’s wrestled it from the top of his head, Noctis is disappearing over the edge of the rock to retrieve a few pieces of firewood so they don’t _actually_ freeze to death.

Apart from this sad little blanket, a fire was going to be their only means of staying relatively warm.

A sigh leaves his lips as he tips his head back for a moment to look at the stars starting to appear in the sky amidst the warm hues of the fading sun.

Looks like he's stuck prepping their, uh… sleeping arrangements.

* * *

 

Their camp is a sorry one. It can hardly be called one at all, but the sky is clear and the daemons are distant, so despite the chill in the air, they still had plenty to be thankful for. The fire isn’t going to stave off the cold as much as he’d like, but it’s better than nothing and it’s easy to ignore the chill in the air when he’s teasing Noct for cheating and using magic to start the fire.

It’s easy to ignore the temperature that’s steadily dipping sitting here with Noct, sucking down dinner that was little more than a nice meal of enhanced cup noodles. It’s not until they’re getting ready to underneath their single, solitary blanket that he begins to feel the cold. Their jackets are peeled away, laid down to defend them as much as possible from stone beneath them.

The rest should be easy. Years of knowing Noctis had given them time to have plenty of sleepovers in the past. There were perhaps _too many_ times where Prompto ended up crashing at his place—in his _bed_ —because he’d missed the last train. Not to mention, Noct was his best bud. The only _real_ tragedy here would be if he wasn’t allowed to cuddle away the cold with him.

Noct is the first one to find a home in their shoddy sleeping arrangements. That’s no surprise. What he’s _not_ expecting is for Noctis to stop him before he can crawl in to join him.

“C'mon, man, I'm freezing my junk off out here.”

“You’re not wearing that to bed.”

Violet blue eyes find a sudden interest in the stone beneath his feet more than the face of his friend. He can’t help biting down on his lip, chewing on the tender flesh there for a moment as he mulls over how to win the ensuing argument.

Anyone with half a brain would know what Noctis was talking about—and it’s not the pants he’s borrowed from him to keep the cold from clinging to his skin like it would if he slept in his boxers as per usual.

“Aw, come on, man. Don't be Ignis,” he tries, wringing his hands in front of him, chest constricting the minute the words were out of his mouth. _That is_ _ **100%**_ _your anxiety,_ he tells himself, not wanting to believe it’s anything else, despite the likelihood of it.

The way Noct’s face scrunches up at the mere _suggestion_ that he’s even remotely _similar_ to his adviser elicits a breath of laughter from Prompto, though he knows a loss is in the cards. All he’s doing is prolonging the inevitable.

“I'm not ‘being Ignis’. You can't sleep in a binder, Prom.”

“Uh, and I can't sleep with my tits, like, _on you_.”

“Like they’re any different than mine.”

From day one, it’s been obvious that Prompto was the only one bothered by the disparity between his identity and his body. The only “disturbance” that had occured due to Prompto’s confession was Ignis being _surprisingly_ upset that he hadn’t been told in advance so he could tailor meals more appropriately to minimize the negative impacts of what Prompto liked to call his “monthly hell”—and Prompto couldn’t have been happier to say that the extra effort wasn’t necessary.

But Noctis had known longer than Gladio or Ignis. He had found out back in high school, when his stupid uterus had decided to be on anything _but_ a schedule and Prompto had been forced to tell the _prince of his fucking country_ that he was trans and could he _please_ go buy him a couple things because he couldn’t very well walk down the street bleeding everywhere.

Words could never express how grateful he was to have a friend that would not only go out and do exactly that, but would also deal with the _weeks_ that the press spent trying to track down who he was dating.

So if there was any one person that Prompto _should_ feel comfort being around without a binder, it should probably be Noct—if only that was enough to will away his dysphoria.

“Prom,” Noctis says, voice as soft as it is stern. It’s the tone of his voice that dissolves whatever drive he has to keep his chest as flat as possible. Much as he hates the fat sacks hanging from his chest like a pair of anatomically-infused weights, sleeping in a binder is a bad idea.

Noct's right. He knows this; he knows that the ache in his chest isn’t anxiety.

“ _Fiiine_ , just… turn around, would ya?”

Noct does as told, but that doesn’t mean Prompto’s satisfied.

“And close your eyes.”

Prompto can’t even see his face to confirm whether or not he actually does it, but he decides that maybe— _just_ maybe—Noct is trustworthy enough to assume that he did as told.

“And cover them with your hands!”

“Prom, _really_?” Noct asks, though Prompto hears more amusement than irritation in his voice, despite the exaggerated sigh as his hands move up to comply with Prompto’s demands.

“Listen, I'm not taking any chances with you after that time you grabbed me, Mister!”

Noct sputters, ears flushing bright even in the dim light as he tries and fails to make anything _but_ words. It takes him so long to figure out how his mouth works that Prompto’s already stripping his tank off when he says, “It was an accident! Besides, you’re one to talk! You had your hand on my ass _how_ many times today?!”

“Dude, I have to make sure you still _have_ one after all the lazing around you do. Think about how disappointed Lady Lunafreya would be if her husband was _ass_ less?”

“Hey, I _have_ an ass!”

“Yeah, sure, buddy,” he says with a laugh as he peels off the tight, black binder, letting loose a breath of sweet relief that came with the first opportunity he’s had to breath properly all day. But the absence of it reminds him of _another_ issue as the air hits his bare skin, causing a shiver to rock his body. “Hey, uh… Don't suppose you have an extra shirt? Iggy had all of mine for washing… And the tank is a little…”

 _Tight_ , he wants to say, but the thought of how it would emphasize a part of his body that he hated second most was enough to make him cringe. But as always, Noctis doesn’t question him, doesn’t second guess whatever is on Prompto’s mind.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he pauses to fish through the armiger a moment before retrieving one of his spare shirts and Prompto was grateful when he reached back without looking to hand it to him. He doesn’t scold him for pulling his hands away from his face to do it, either. “Here.”

“Thanks, man.”

It’s when the shirt is in his hands that he knows he’s been _more_ than blessed by the Gods, given the friend that he has.

“Oh, Noct,” he whispers, tone exaggerated. “My favorite fabric. How did you know? Not even my nips will suffer tonight.”

He hears a huff of laughter from his friend, but the joke that follows has Prompto gasping in mock offense.

“It's my subtle way of saying, ‘Please keep your shirt on’.”

“Like you haven’t seen ‘em before, _your highness_.”

Both of them chuckle at that, knowing the truth of it. It’d be hard for Noct _not_ to see his bare chest once of twice when he was constantly getting his ass kicked. How many times had he needed to help bandage a wound that he’d waited too long to grab a potion for?

Prompto pulls on the shirt offered to him, relishing in the familiar soft fabric that was easy even on the most sensitive of skin.

“Okay,” he says, signalling to Noct that he can finally turn back around. This time, their eyes meet and a smile lights Prompto’s face as Noctis opens up the space he’d previously closed off for his sake. He’s quick to settle into their makeshift sleeping bag, laying close— _too_ close by the standards of some—to his friend and curling an arm around him. “Give me your _best_ octopus impression.”

Noctis wastes no time in leeching off Prompto’s natural warmth while Prompto suffers a few minutes through the chill that’s settled into Noct’s limbs. He spots a hint of the same tired smile he’s been seeing all evening before it disappears into blond locks.

“Night, Prom,” Noct mutters, voice already slurred from sleep. He was going to wake up with a stiff back tomorrow. He was going to wish they'd never wandered out of Gladio and Ignis's field of vision, but he had none of those regrets right now.

“Night, Noct,” he whispers, the soft snoring he gets in response eliciting a giggle from him that fills his chest with warmth instead of the usual anxiety.

Nah, this couldn’t be counted among his regrets, no matter how sore his back would be come morning.


End file.
